And a Spark of Lightning
by The Black Sun's Daughter
Summary: "As if you could pick in love, as if it were not a lightning bolt that splits your bones and leaves you staked out in the middle of the courtyard" -Julio Cortázar, Hopscotch


Ezekiel wakes up slowly, lazily, the way he always does, except that now it's a bit different, because he isn't waking up alone. He's in the middle of a tangle of limbs, but it's a comfortable tangle, so he doesn't really mind. He's sore, but in the best way, like, a-lot-of-really-fun-exercise-happened-last-night kind of way. He can feel contentedness like a haze in the back of his skull and the front of his chest, so easy for him to sink into and go back to sleep. But there's something else that keeps him up, a tiny alarm that keeps niggling at him, telling him that he's missing something very important, and he's gotten this far by listening for alarms. Reluctantly, he opens one eye.

The bedroom is unfamiliar, but thankfully dark except for the little ribbon of light that's peeking through the gap in heavy drapes, slanting across the bed in a peculiar bar of warmth. Long, slender limbs and a mess of soft red hair greets him, and when he glances down the length of the bed, he can see a definitely-male leg thrown over his, another arm slung over his hips. Threesome. Unexpected but definitely not unprecedented. Ezekiel has an appreciation for many things, even if he didn't wax all sappy and poetical like _some people_ (read: Jake) did, and that included his choice of bedmates. There are seven billion people in the world, why restrict to only half of them? No, sir, he's an equal opportunity kind of bloke, and he'll very gladly partake from both sides of the human buffet table.

Granted, he _does_ need to have a word with his subconscious if he's shagging people that look like his coworkers, but sod it, that's one way to get it out of his system.

Before he can wholly figure out just what's the major malfunction, the redhead in his arms stretches a little and rolls over in her sleep but doesn't wake up, and _fuck,_ she doesn't look like Cassandra, she _is_ Cassandra. Which can only mean... Ezekiel swallows hard and reluctantly turns his head the other way to look over his shoulder, and how about that, it is indeed Jake lying on his other side, owner of the arm and leg draped over him.

And in that moment, Ezekiel Jones, world-class thief, knows he's completely fucked.

* * *

He gets away with it. Sort of. Kind of.

He manages to get up, get dressed, and get out without waking either one of them, and when they come into the Annex later on, nobody acts like anything untoward happened last night. Awesome. Except for the fact that they _know._ He notices it, even if Baird and Jenkins don't (for which he is eternally grateful), how Jake will stand just a shade closer to him now, or how Cassandra will spontaneously hug him with less prompting than before. He knows why they do it, and he knows that he hasn't gotten away with all of it.

Ezekiel doesn't want this.

Okay, that's total crap, he's wanted this his entire natural existence, but he doesn't want all that it entails. Love is a double-edged sword. It fills in the broken spaces in himself until he feels like a whole person again, but it also strips away every last bit of defense he has and leaves him exposed to the elements. It is a need, no different than the need to eat, to breathe, and he's not sure that he can ignore that need anymore, not with them. And _that_ is what he hates. He hates relying on anyone else for his own happiness because he's seen far too much disappointment in that regard.

Sometimes, he resents Cassandra and Jake. They couldn't just work with him, get along with him, _tolerate_ him like everybody else in the world does. They couldn't just leave it at sex. No, the stupid, silly, emotional buggers have to _love_ him, too.

Ezekiel used to picture himself with someone high-class and expensive. Someone that has a passing grip on fashion, likes champagne, and wears exorbitantly expensive jewelry that he's bound to steal. Not with flannel shirts, hipster scarves, and fingerless gloves, and not with knee-high socks, frilly collars, and patterned jumpers. If he was smart, he would've written off the other night as a mistake and found himself someone else, someone like the Italian bird. Portland's got a nightlife to kill for, he could've done it. Hell, he could've had another threesome if he played it out right.

Except, the thing is, he likes the company of friends over strangers, and he likes Cassandra and Jake more than he likes most of his friends. They're familiar and soothing, and he likes the way they both smell – Cassandra like strawberries and cookies, Jake like leather and old paper. He irritates him that he constantly feels the impulse to _touch_ them whenever they're close to him (which is bloody constantly, he's realising), the impulse to play with the ends of Cassandra's hair or lean into Jake's side.

His body is working against him towards its own unhelpful end, which is somewhere between the two of them. Traitor.

* * *

Ezekiel tries to avoid being alone with them, and he clings to Baird like a second shadow, because if there's one thing that Jake and Cassandra are never going to do, it's discuss their sex life in front of Eve Baird. He knows that he's only one near-death experience and a few drinks from being in their arms again. He can turn down Jake, and he can turn down Cassandra. If they come at him together, however, then he's putty in their hands, and he thinks that they know it, too.

"Okay, I'm out of here. See ya," Jake says as he pulls on his jacket. "Cassie, wanna ride?"

"Yeah, sure." She starts putting on her own coat, and adds, "Do you want to stop and get something to eat? I'm starving."

"I'm always amenable to food," he agrees, and his eyes flicked towards Ezekiel just as Cassandra's do the same.

There's a pause that stretches out just a little longer than it should've, and he notices (like he notices everything else about them) that they're not standing quite as close to each other as they used to, leaving a space between their bodies. It's an invitation. A pause for him to ask to join, a space for him to fit into. He'll give it to them – for a pair of bulls in a china shop, they're subtle.

Ezekiel tips his chair back on two legs and puts his feet up on the table, pulling off the completely disaffected look that's taken him years to master, like he doesn't have a thing to worry about no matter what happens. "Have fun, then. Or at least, as much fun as is possible without me around," he said, flapping one hand disinterestedly.

"Alright. See you," Jake replies before Baird can wonder why they're all being so weird (oh, if only she knew how weird) and he's gone, heavy footfalls thumping down the hallway. Cassandra waves a little before following after him.

He tells himself that it is absolutely not disappointment that's aching in his chest.

* * *

He knows that he's really in trouble after Wexler. When Baird tells them that Cassandra has gone through the rift to rescue that girl, Ezekiel has to swallow hard just to keep from vomiting on his shoes, because _oh, God,_ they could have lost her. Their job is dangerous, he knows that. Cocky, arrogant, and self-assured Ezekiel Jones may be, but even if he does like a healthy amount of risk, he's also red-hot on personal safety, and it's never been so damn obvious to him just how close to death they come. They're dancing on a knife's edge, and Cassandra had decided to tiptoe a little closer to the end than usual. It makes his chest feel like its clogged with ice and ground glass.

Afterwards, after the day is saved and everyone's alive (okay, not _everyone_ ), they're back in the Annex. Ezekiel is sitting at the table, trying to make his hands stop shaking.

"We're out of here," Jake says from the doorway. He has one hand on Cassandra's back, under the pretense of steadying her. "I'm gonna give Cassie a ride. No operating heavy machinery after dimension-hopping."

Baird chortles and waves them off before she heads off into the stacks, searching for Jenkins.

Again, there's that pause, that moment's hesitation, a silent invitation. "Jones?" Cassandra says quietly when he doesn't crack a joke or brush them off immediately.

Ezekiel doesn't say anything, he's not sure that he even could at this point, just stands up and walks across the Annex to where they're waiting by the door. He doesn't fall into step next to them, either, he just walks right up to Jake, right into his personal space, and drops his head forward onto the man's shoulder, hiding his face in the crook of Jake's neck.

Jake stands perfectly still for a moment, obviously stunned, but then strong arms encircle him, one low around his waist, the other high on his shoulders, hand resting over the nape of his neck. Ezekiel leans further into him, still not hugging him as his arms are limp at his sides, but whatever. He's tired, and he wants to go to bed, but damn it, he doesn't want to be alone. He's stuck between the stone and the sty, and he's picking the stone. There's a name pun somewhere in there, but he's actually too tired to go looking for it.

The smell of cookies and fresh strawberries tickle his nose, mixing with the old paper and leather smell of Jake, and Cassandra rests her hands against his back, sliding around his waist as she presses against him. Jake takes the arm from Ezekiel's waist and wraps it around her instead, pulling her close so Ezekiel has to take a shuffling step sideways to make room. He doesn't mind.

This is absolutely not a good idea, they're going to crash and burn with a vengeance, there is no way any of them are going to make it out of this unscathed...but that still doesn't stop him from moving to put one arm around Cassandra, the other around Jake, finally turning it into a proper embrace.

"C'mon," Jake murmurs after a moment. His arm has settled itself securely around Ezekiel's waist, one hand spread across his hipbone, and he uses it to pull him along. "C'mon, we're going home."

This is not a good idea...but it's not a bad one, either, and he's always been all about risk.

* * *

He's in the middle of a tangle of limbs, but it's a comfortable tangle, so he doesn't really mind. He's sore, but in the best way, like, a-lot-of-really-fun-exercise-happened-last-night kind of way. He can feel contentedness like a haze in the back of his skull and the front of his chest, so easy for him to sink into and go back to sleep. There isn't any alcohol-induced memory loss available to shield him this time around. Ezekiel knows exactly where he is and how he got there. He opens his eyes, only to see Cassandra already awake, propped up on one elbow and watching him, hair in wild tangled curls around her shoulders. "Watching people when they sleep, little bit creepy," he informs her dryly.

"You weren't sleeping. You just didn't want to be awake yet," the mathematician replies with perfect honesty. It's the truth, but the fact that she can tell is probably a little creepy in its own right, not that he cares.

"This is a bad idea." He'd said the same thing last night – not that it made much difference, for here he was again – but at least he'd said it. Last night, he'd been tired and lonely and scared, in most desperate need of a reassurance that they were all still alive and well, more than words, that he couldn't do more than just put up a token protest.

The corner of her mouth curves upwards. "You keep saying that, Ezekiel, and yet you never provide a decent argument to support your thesis," she answers, poking him in the chest for emphasis and then stroking the contact point when he winces. The gentle touch triggers memories of a similar action from last night, and he sighs at how utterly screwed he is.

"A decent argument? I wouldn't be Ezekiel Jones if I couldn't talk my way out of anything. I could write a _book_ full of arguments about why this is completely crackers," he protests. "You two just aren't interested in _hearing_ them."

A heavy sigh from Jake ruffles the fine hair on the nape of his nape, and Ezekiel can't quite stifle the shiver that runs through his body. "Seriously, man, I will buy you a damn ring if that's what it takes. Hell, I'd even let you steal 'em if that ain't romantic enough for ya."

"You're a very odd cowboy," Ezekiel mutters, though he's torn between shouting at them both for being utter idiots and kissing them both senseless for being themselves.

"So I've been told." Jake sits up, somehow managing to press the line of his body even closer into Ezekiel in the action, and looks down at him in all seriousness. "If you say you don't want this," he makes an encompassing gesture over the three of them and the tangle of sheets, "well...we ain't gonna believe you." Ezekiel can give him that one: he remembers his wholehearted enthusiasm in partaking of last night's activities, so much so it almost makes him blush. "But if you need time to get your head around it, think on it and sort it out, then fine. We can live with waiting. But don't...don't act like we ain't here, Ezekiel. Don't act like nothin' happened. We'll give you time, but...don't ignore us." Jake's voice is hoarse by the end, his low Southern burr coming in thicker with emotion.

That one kind of stings, and Ezekiel sinks back into the pillows a little. "I've thought about it. I have given countless hours of my precious time to thinking on how well our little teamwork ménage might move on to the bedroom, and also how likely it is that we crash and burn in a most horrendously spectacular way. So. I want it noted, for the record, right now, that I said this was an awful idea and you're both idiots for suggesting it at all, but you two were all romantic sweeping gestures – I expected better from _you_ , at least, Cassandra – and so I give in. Who am I to turn down fantastic sex on a regular basis with two attractive people that are thick enough to offer it to me?"

Cassandra smacks him in the head with a pillow, which is a good thing, because he's running out of steam, and he might've burst into tears of despair or laughs of joy, it could've gone either way. "You get the, 'I told you so,' then," she says. "Your favourite words."

Jake prods him in the side too, shaking his head. "An' you're just as much of a romantic as I am, punk, you just don't wanna admit it," he mutters.

He flops back on the bed, and they curl into him beneath the comforter, and Ezekiel has to force himself not to pretend that he doesn't feel happy and safe and _right_ caught between their bodies. It's not going to be easy, he knows. Balancing three people's issues is in no way easier than trying to balance just two, but for the first time, he allows himself to consider the possibility that maybe it'll be worth it. He's in the middle of a tangle of limbs, but it's a comfortable tangle, so he doesn't really mind. He can feel contentedness like a haze in the back of his skull and the front of his chest, so easy for him to sink into and go back to sleep. So he does.


End file.
